


Birds of a Feather

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst and Feels, Arguing, Dragon Age II - Act 3, F/M, Grumpy Fenris (Dragon Age), Kissing, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Mage-Templar Dynamics (Dragon Age), Mutual Pining, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, Protective Fenris (Dragon Age), Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), Surprise Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-11 06:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28466940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Fenris comes to speak to Hawke about the consequences of flaunting her power in Kirkwall. Hawke is well aware of what's at stake, she just doesn't care that much.
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37
Collections: Anonymous, The Hanged Man Holiday Exchange 2020





	Birds of a Feather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fairfaxleasee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fairfaxleasee/gifts).



> I had a lot of fun working on your prompt! I prefer to remain anonymous in secret santa exchanges, but I hope you like it!

“You are a fool.” 

Hawke sweeps her eyes from her own reflection in the dressing table mirror to pin the dark, brooding form in her doorway with them. If Fenris doesn’t care for her piercing gaze, he shows no sign. His own thunderous expression sears in between her shoulder blades. 

Her lips curl into an amused smile and she tips her head to the side, reaching up to remove one of the delicate gold hoops from her ear. “So you tell me. _Daily_. What have I done this time and will Varric at least get a good story out of it?” 

“The last thing Varric needs is another story of your _exploits_ ,” Fenris grumbles.

“He’d disagree,” Hawke declares. “He’s talking about writing a biography of me, you know. I’m sure it will be alarmingly inaccurate. I can’t _wait_.” 

“All they do is speak of you. They do not need encouragement.” 

That’s enough to make her turn from her mirror, half delighted. She props her pointed chin in her hand and beams across the room at Fenris. “ _You’re_ listening to society gossip? Maybe there’s truth in that choreography story you told Varric after all.” 

He almost smiles. He _always_ almost smiles at her, but never quite manages it. There’s something stopping him. She wishes she knew what it was, but she’s long given up on ever knowing more than he wants her to. 

She’s not quite given up on him, though. Because he’s right, she _is_ a fool. 

“It is wise to listen to those who wield power, Hawke. Regardless of whether you value their opinion.” 

“You’re right,” she answers pertly, flashing him a brilliant smile. It’s the same one that she wears at all the dull parties she attends. She’s glad to see it’s appearance makes him straighten and bristle in annoyance. “I couldn’t _possibly_ care less about what they think.” 

“Which makes you a fool,” Fenris growls, stalking across the fine, plush carpet. 

“Oh go on then,” Hawke sighs, turning back to her dressing table. “Let me hear the gossip. Have I stomped on some lord’s toes while dancing? Used the wrong fork?” 

“You snubbed one of the Knight Commander’s greatest supporters by refusing his request to dance-” Fenris begins. 

“Have you _seen_ the man? He looks like this,” Hawke puffed out her cheeks like a fish, “and smells like Carver’s old socks.” 

“Implied _you_ had something to do with the delivery of two dozen live nugs to the Gallows-” 

She widens her eyes, the very picture of innocence. “Fenris! You _know_ that was Merrill’s idea.” 

He ignores her, looming over her chair with his arms crossed and a scowl on his lips. “And then you punctuated your evening by igniting all the torches with a flick of your fingers.” 

The glow of satisfaction still lingers, and she doesn’t bother to hide it. “At my host’s request. Magic is meant to serve man, after all.” 

“And to be flaunted?” He asks. 

She raises an eyebrow and pushes her chair from the dressing table so she can stand. “If I’m getting a lecture on flaunting my assets, Fenris, I _demand_ you visit Varric next. We’ve dealt with all that chest hair for far-” 

She goes to brush past him, nonchalant as can be, but he stops her short by thrusting one tanned, lean arm out, halting her in her steps. She freezes, breath whooshing from her lungs, but not in fear. 

This is too close to another memory. Another time. Before she became Champion, before Leandra’s murder, before-

 _Before he left_.

He’s blunt, green eyes never leaving hers. “You make dangerous enemies, Hawke.” 

She swallows hard and flutters her lashes, keeping her voice smooth as silk. “Well, good thing I’ve got such murderous friends, isn’t it?” 

“We will be of little use to you when you’re in the Gallows.” 

Her voice comes out harder than she wants, but her smile never wavers. “Where I belong?” 

His arm doesn’t drop. In fact, Fenris only steps closer, ignoring the blatant danger in her tone. He’s not afraid of her even though by all rights he _should_ be. She’s everything he hates. 

And yet here he is, in the room where he broke her heart. Hawke doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

“I am not here to argue,” Fenris lies, as if he’s not always there to argue with her. “I am here to tell you your actions are watched, you are being measured and considered. If you are not careful-” 

“I am _tired_ of being _careful_!” 

The words shock him. It’s good to know she still can. He repeats them in sarcastic astonishment. “ _You_ are tired of being _careful_?”

“Meredith wants me dead or locked up. I’m not going to worry about appeasing her, she won’t change her mind. I may as well have a bit of fun instead of flinching at every clank of armor.” 

She lifts her chin defiantly and stares him down. “I thought _you_ would understand.” 

“I understand you are being reckless and taunting her with your-” he stops, chokes on the word, before he spits it out. “Your _freedom_.” 

“Maker, I bet she can’t stand it.” Hawke smirks. “Me, at a party, showing off in that red dress you like?” 

“I have no strong opinions on the red dress,” Fenris insists. Too quickly. 

“Liar,” Hawke hisses. “Just like you’re lying about me being free. I’m just as much her prisoner out here as I’d be in the Gallows.”

“You could leave Kirkwall. You could go wherever you wished,” Fenris growls, leaning in closer until she can feel his breath on her skin. “You are _free_.” 

“I am a pet on a leash for all the nobility, and if I’m not the champion _they_ want, I’ll be a Templar’s new favorite mage by the time I can say Andraste’s Knickerweasels and you’ll all be dead.” 

He’s getting angry. She can see it in his hard gaze. “You can go anywhere.” 

“There’s always going to be Templars. There’s always going to be Meredith. I’m always going to be an apostate.” It’s the cold, hard truth. “There’s nowhere to run, Fenris, even if I wanted to. And I can’t very well wear that red dress anywhere but here.”

“So you will provoke her,” he states icily. 

“If all my choices are bad, I may as well make the fun one,” she declares brightly. 

For a moment, there is only silence. It stretches between them until it feels heavy. Then he breaks it with one quiet question. “What is it you wish to gain, Hawke?” 

“Fame and fortune,” she answers quickly. 

“ _Liar_ ,” he hisses, moving so close his lips are a mere inch from hers, so close she can feel the heat of his body through her dressing. “Answer me.” 

“I don’t _want_ anything else.” She knows better now. She knows the cost of wanting things. “But I’m not going to lose anything else either.” 

She lifts her hand, rests it carefully over her breastplate, not touching his skin. “Have you figured out what you want yet?” 

His gaze sharpens. It’s the only warning she gets. 

His strength allows him to easily spin her back against the wall before she can protest, and honestly would she if she could? This is a mistake, a lesson she stubbornly refuses to learn. His arms bracket her against the stone and she’s already reaching for him when he crashes his lips to hers. 

This. She can’t lose _this_. The slide of his tongue, the warm of his embrace, the soft noise of surprise he _always_ makes when she kisses him back. His control has snapped, again, and she has _none_ to begin with, which means that they always end up back here. 

But if it’s all she can have, she’ll take it. 

“You,” he murmurs against her lips. “You make me want things that are not mine to have.” 

“They could be,” she pants, diving back in for more, but he’s already retreating. The fire is gone, leaving him stiff and formal. 

She briefly considers burning the whole mansion to the ground to bring it back. 

“I apologize. I should go.” He shifts from one foot to another, takes another step back. 

She doesn’t scream, even though she wants to. “I’m still waiting, Fenris.” 

When he lifts his gaze from the floor, there’s something different in his eyes. Something sharp and determined. 

She swears to the Maker she almost swoons like a lady in Varric’s cheesy romance novel. 

“Perhaps you will not have to wait much longer,” he promises. 

Those words are still ringing in the air when he turns on one heel and flees out of her home. _Again_.

From her bed there’s a small, plaintive whine. Hawke looks over her shoulder and meets the bewildered, bright gaze of her Mabari. 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” she huffs. 

The dog barks as if in agreement and rolls over, leaving Hawke’s side of the bed free. He wags his tail, expectant, and she smiles through the tears pricking her eyes. 

_Perhaps you will not have to wait much longer_.

She knows she shouldn’t hope. But she does anyway. 


End file.
